Normal's The Watchword Or Is It?
by MissAnomaly
Summary: Normal. That's the watchword. Sounds good doesn't it? She always thought she was. Except she wasn't.. Oc fic. Explanatory in story. Give it a shot? Read&Review please.. Thank you.. on Hiatus for now..
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N Hmm.. I'll let the story do the explaining, but first, thank you for giving this a shot, I give you my word it'll be good, please do continue reading, reviews are always welcomed, Second Fan Fic, first in X-Men, and uhm.. This is an Original Character fiction and the pairing off would be done eventually, so okay.. Here we go._

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

It was a chilly afternoon and the lot filled with cars was practically void of any human presence. Almost, except it was not. A lone figure crossed the lot juggling her bag, books, lap top, a cup of coffee and keys as she unlocked her car with a beep from a distance. She wore a spaghetti strapped black top that hugged her body and bared a slight bit of flesh around her flat abdomen coupled up with a pair of low strung boot cut jeans that hung onto her hips and her scuffed up purple sneakers.

She placed her lap top, books and coffee to wrestle open her truck's door when someone grabbed her from behind swirling her around. Pushed up against her car, she smiled against her boyfriend's kiss and looped her arms over his neck, melting against his kiss. His tongue brushed her upper lip to deepen the kiss however, she pulled away.

"Hey," she whispered to the tall sandy blonde male in front of her.

"Hey," the sandy blonde said back before placing his mouth over hers again. This time, like before, before things could get any further, the two figures in their steamy embrace had to pull apart. This time because a car pulled up behind her black truck and honked to make its presence known causing them to be startled, pulling apart, they looked at the two other figures getting off the car rather awkwardly.

"Justin," the tall one called out as he stood behind his door, "And Justin's special lady friend whom I approve of whole-heartedly and without reservation," he quickly added acknowledging the girls presence.

"Alex," she replied, "Wayne," she greeted the other male.

"Boys," her boyfriend responded with his hands still around her waist.

"Come on, lover boy, let's go, that's enough face sucking for now," the one named Alex called out good-humoredly.

Justin sighed and turned back to his girlfriend, "Go ahead, I've got to be getting home anyway, I'll see you later?" she said toying with his scruffy hair on the back of his neck.

His lips found its way to hers again, "My place?" he offered suggestively. She smiled and gave the normal reply for a girlfriend to give, "Yea, sure,"

Normal. That's the watch word. Sounds good doesn't it? It was 3 weeks into Brooke Cooper's sophomore year as a med student at New York University and it was as normal as it could be for this 18 year old girl with blonde hair which had a certain likeness to her pallid pale complexion that almost seemed translucent. The blondeness and pallid complexion was not an uncommon look, except for the purple streak on the right side of her head to go with her piercing violet eyes.

Brooke blew several strands of hair that fell over her eyes, picking her stuff from the top of her car before getting into her black Chevy as her boyfriend and his pals drove off in their shiny yellow pick up. She dumped her messenger bag and lap top on the passenger seat before pinning up the lock of hair that kept falling over her eyes.

She had gotten it trimmed lately, to have them sweep over the front of her face, partially covering her eyes, but the hairdresser had misinterpreted 'one inch shorter' and now it just annoyed her. It was not long enough to do the job and not short enough to stay out of her way. It was easy of course, just to say that she wore contacts whenever people asked, the purple streak in her hair clearly enunciated her fondness of the color, so people didn't find it difficult to believe her.

Brooklyn Cooper never led the charmed life, as a matter of fact, it was the exact opposite; dead parents, uptight grandparents, rogue best friend sent to some smancy boarding school, and a boyfriend who seemed a lot like a friend with benefit - easy on the friend, heavy on the benefit. So things weren't perfect, but she'd settle for as normal as she could get, especially when you're the genius girl with catastrophe and trouble followed you wherever you went.

Pulling on her favorite black cotton hoodie from the backseat as the weather had begun to turn chilly welcoming in winter, Brooke stared ahead at the cloudless sky, thinking of the past few days. No 'accidents', date with her 'boyfriend', hectic college life, things were going good, almost like a typical college student. Unbeknownst to her however, was that the normalcy was just about to change.

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she drove home, switching stations whenever there was a hint of news being slotted in, Brooke was just fine living in the small cocoon of the world she was living in, like an ostrich she buried her head in the sand, refusing to face the world, refusing to play any part or pay any notice to the clash between human and mutants which was beginning to rage at a phenomenal rate. Reaching home, she parked her car at the alley behind dingy looking building.

The apartment was 7 storeys high, a minute feat, compared to the other concrete phenomenons in Manhattan. Had she entered using the front entrance she would have had to walk up through the stuffy stairway in the building. The elevator wasn't even an option as it was almost always 'under restoration'. The back alley was eerily quiet, almost as if it had been deserted for years. Alleys were a dangerous place in this side of Manhattan, but she could take care of herself. At least here there was some moving air out back, and she didn't have to worry about bumping into any shady characters in the building.

She pulled down the fire escape with ease and began to climb the metal stairs, holding on to the metal railings as it wobbled slightly. She in through the wide set windows and found her mother in front of the television in the living room.

_"History will be made today. For the first time, the so-called mutant cure will be made available to the public"_

Brooklyn stopped in mid-step, her cup of coffee halfway to her mouth.

_"Now reaction was run the gamut with mutants on both sides of the line, some desperate for the cure while the others are offended by the very idea.."_

She didn't hear anything past that point as she glanced away from the television and at her mother instead. Caitlyn was a woman in her early forties though with her blonde hair and looks, she barely looked a day over 30, she was tall and slender, just like Brooklyn. She was throwing occasional glances at the television set as she packed fervently, stuffing some clothing into a back pack and zipping it up vigorously. She had her hair tied up and she wore jeans and a tank, she was pulling on a jacket when a charge went up Brooklyn's spine and she realized what was going on. Dropping her paper cup, the contents of the cup splashed out onto the kitchen floor, staining it with a puddle of murky black.

Hearing the commotion, she heard her mother call out for her from the living room, "Brooke?"

She picked up her things she left on the kitchen counter including her keys when her mother entered the kitchen.

"Brooke, we're going to-"

"Mom, no!" she cut her off firmly.

"Brooklyn Jennipher Cooper, you are coming with me and you are taking that cure!" she insisted.

"There's nothing To cure," she fought back, "There is nothing wrong with us!"

"Nothing wrong with us? You think it's normal for a person to be able to control water? You think it's normal for an 18 year old girl to be in their second year in college? You think it's normal that you have purple colored eyes?" she asked hysterically on the verge of screaming.

"Brooke.." she started saying considerably calmer, "This.." Caitlyn gestured to the both of them with her hands, "is not normal. We are not normal," she stated.

"So we're a little different, big deal, and I'm like freakishly smart, so what? There's nothing wrong with that," Brooklyn argued.

"Brooke, don't you want to be normal?" she asked and Brooke's temper flared up once again.

"We are normal!"

"Brooke, we have to do this," her mother pleaded weakly attempting to hold her hands.

"No mom, we don't," she insisted pushing her hand away.

There was a sudden crash that emitted from the television as the camera picked up on a male hurtling out of a twenty-something floor window and plummeting toward the ground before the massive wings spread behind him sprung open and gave a swish, pushing him upward as he flew away.

Caitlyn's head whipped toward the direction of the noise and Brooklyn took this distraction to scurry out the window, ignoring her mother's calls, and scampered down the metal railings and steps. As soon as she got to ground, she scampered to her car, getting into her black Chevy, starting her engine, and drove off.

She was running away. She Brooklyn Cooper was running away. She glanced at her back seat, careful not to look away from the road too long, driving off at breakneck speed. It was only the third week back but she was already practically living in her truck, so there was a pair of sneakers lying carelessly on the floor stuffed with a pair of clean socks along with her pair of black stiletto heeled boots and on her backseat, several tops and hoodies and jackets along with a pair of jeans.

Her free hand not on the wheel dug into her bag and pulled out her wallet. She fiddled with it for a bit, driving single handedly down the road, turning out of the housing area and onto the nearest exit. She pulled the folded envelope out of her wallet and tossed her wallet back to the passenger seat onto her bag.

_"No turning back now, Brooklyn," _she thought to herself as she referred to the letter's return address, not like she needed to read it, she had it memorized even when he had specified not to write back, but she needed it to convince herself that she had to do it, even if seeing him was the last thing she ever wanted to do, it was the only safe place to go.

_A/N Oooooh, where is she going and who is this 'he' she's talking about? Hope I've kept you intrigued to wanna read the next one, criticism are always welcome and I think you've noticed that this one cuts half way through X3 but it'll mostly be post X3, I wanted a place to slit in my character, Let me know if it's good, or bad, like it, don't like it.. Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N Short one.. Sort of a filler? Sort off.. Well, okay, again reviews are loved and adored. Thank you and Enjoy…_

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

Brooklyn Cooper pushed the heavy large oak door and it creaked open to welcome her and she found a deserted hallway ahead.

"Hello?" she called as loudly as her tired throat could call out.

No reply.

Hesitantly, she ventured into the large mansion, venturing into unknown grounds, unsure of exactly what to do where to head.

She'd driven for half a day before she got busted and she trekked for the rest of the day, headed for this place, now that she was here, it didn't seem like such a smart idea. What exactly was she going to tell these people? What was she going to do? How exactly was she going to avoid him? Was he still here even?

The questions buzzed around her tired mind. She tried to reason with herself that it was the right thing to do, her mother wanted the cure, and she wanted her to take the cure too, if she went back, there was no question that she'd use tears and emotional blackmail to ensure Brooke would get herself shot up with the acclaimed 'cure', her grandparents on the other hand would have used brute force to ensure she got this 'cure', this option, the third, was by far, the safest.

As she walked deeper into the mansion, she found the place to be massive, when she first entered there seemed to be a general living room to her right with a large welcoming sofa set and another amenities, but reaching the end of the corridor, she saw a large winding staircase dominating the west side of the room, another corridor and above, a high beamed ceiling and a small portion of a second floor could be seen. As she looked upward and about, amazed by the beauty and the pieces of art hanging carelessly but tastefully around and the architecture of the old old house, she didn't notice 2 young males coming closer from behind her tossing a football back and forth, laughing, they had hardly noticed her either.

Their footsteps and voices finally informed her of their presence and she turned around just in time to see the oval ball pelting towards her. However she noticed it coming at her just in time and it halted in mid air just inches before her face and it dropped right to her hands before she lifted it and tossed it weakly back to one of them, the larger, bulkier one, he said a curt thanks and left via the corridor to the left, the other male with the dirty blonde hair however, did not.

"Hi," she greeted him awkwardly, wondering why he didn't leave with his friend.

"You're new," he stated more than asked.

With the whole announcement of the cure earlier that day, things did still go on as per usual, as normally as it could be and this, this was a new face, it caught his attention, and he most certainly was curious.

"I'm Bobby," he introduced himself.

"Brooklyn Cooper," she offered automatically yet uncomfortably, she was tired and she didn't know a lot about the place or its inhabitants. He studied this new face who identified herself Brooklyn Cooper and she in turn studied this person in front of her, taking in his casual outfit and how he seemed at ease and comfortable with the surrounding.

Brooklyn felt another wave of dizziness or what she thought was a wave of dizziness, she had been trekking her way along roads and sidewalks for almost a day after abandoning her car, she hadn't had much water, she made minimal stops and refused to hitchhike. The sun had seared even though winter was upon them and she thought the waves of dizziness was probably fatigue coupled with dehydration and shrugged it off.

"I'm.. uh.. I.." she stuttered, stumbling over words, her voice feeble and strained. She stopped for a moment, shaking her head and blinking as though there was something in her eyes. What she was doing was trying to shake off another wave of dizziness.

Bobby simply stared at her, eyes sweeping over her taking in all of her appearance, her blonde hair with the purple streak was damp with what he assumed to be sweat, her ashen complexion that seemed drained and exhausted, the piercing amethyst eyes, all the way down to her scuffed up purple sneakers. She looked tired as though she hadn't slept in days and the bag she had with her bulged, the strap cutting into her shoulders.

A runaway? He contemplated.

She opened her mouth to say something again, but she barely got the first word out when her voice trailed off as her eyes slid close, giving in to fatigue and her body went limp. Everything went black and she fell forward clumsily at the boy, passing out as he caught her in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N This one is basically a flash back, the ones italicized is the flashback, just thought you should know cause it may be a little confusing.. Basically this one offers a little background information on the new character who's fundamentally the starting point of the story and the very core of the story itself._

_So anyway, without further ado, here we go people, Chapter 3…_

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

_Brooklyn sat at the edge of one of the tables, leaning back, her cuffed hands lay on the table and she had her feet stretched out under the table. She glowered at the two way mirror for a moment, knowing she was probably watched. She wondered if NYPD was going overboard here, so she happened to be driving a car that was reported stolen, by her grandparents she was sure, Caitlyn would never do something this drastic, but to hold an 18 year old in an interrogation room for 2 hours, sure they had better things to do with their time and energy._

_The door opened and in strolled a female, late twenties, early thirties looking, blonde hair secured nicely in a pony tail. A police officer she presumed, maybe detective? There was badge on her hip next to the holster and the standard police issue gun, she walked in with a swagger, a cup of coffee in one hand and a file in another, her file, Brooke was sure._

_"Thought you might be thirsty," she offered, placing the cup on the table in front of her._

_"Okay, good cop," Brooke muttered as she leaned forward, taking the cup of coffee in her hands._

_"Excuse me?" blondie officer said._

_After taking a sip of the coffee, she settled the cup down, "Where's the bad cop?" she asked._

_"Oh, he's behind the mirror," she replied, composed and not unnerved by Brooklyn's calm mockery._

_"And you're holding me here why, officer?"_

_"Detective, actually, Detective Ellison," she corrected Brooklyn, "And we found you in a stolen vehicle, Brooklyn,"_

_"Reportedly stolen," she corrected the detective this time, "It's my car,"_

_"Not according to.. a Alice and Mike Cooper though, they were your legal guardians for a while weren't they?" the detective asked, "You see, I know all about you, Brooke, 18 years old, second year in NYU, med student, your parent's died when you were 6, you were forced here to live with your father's parents, and then a year and a half ago, one Caitlyn Hills waltzes back and claims custody of you, feel free to jump in anytime you want," she read of the file, stopping to look up at her._

_After a moment's silence, she went on, "Shy? No problem, I'll just keep going, you'd be what most people classify as a juvenile delinquent, busted twice for shop lifting, once for destruction of public property with one John Allerdyce, your file is thicker than any average 18 year old you seem to have a knack for trouble, mostly related to Allerdyce including one suspected arson, you've had numerous minor offenses but you've always been a straight A student, 2 years ahead in high school, got a full ride at NYU, you seemed to have cleaned up your act just before you graduated form high school though, after the disappearance of your friend, Allerdyce, but now this Brooklyn? Don't think the school would like that very much," she went on._

_"Tthe car's mine, okay? I needed some time off, so I took a little road trip, I guess my mum panicked and called my grandparents and they did this,"_

_"Road trip huh? How's that going so far?" she asked._

_"Not bad, I got arrested driving up a freeway for allegedly stealing and driving my own car, and now I'm handcuffed and held in NYPD's interrogation room, just awesome!" Brooklyn replied matching the detective's sarcasm._

_"This is not a game, Brooklyn," Detective Ellison said raising her voice for the first time._

_"Really? Wow.. Though I can see how I misunderstood you with the handcuffs and all," she said and the female detective nearly scoffed, shaking her hear and leaving the room._

_A tall male stood behind the mirror, fidgeting with a Mont Blanc black pen in his fingers, observing the cuffed girl sitting in the other room separated by a sheet of glass, deep in thought, taking in all of her appearance, from the purple streak in her straight blonde hair, to her purple eyes, to her movement, her actions, her speech._

_"Won't be getting anything other than wise-crack out of her," said his blonde partner as she entered the viewing room standing next to her partner looking into the room as 2 police officers escorted Brooklyn to another room._

_"Remind me again why a domestic squabble between a teen and her guardians are the top of the list for 2 NYPD homicide detectives?" she asked, complaining to her partner as his eyes trailed the girl being led out of the room still in cuffs by two uniformed officers. He merely shrugged and grunted a 'Dunno,' before they both exited the observation room._

_"Miss Cooper?" the man with raven brown hair and a musty grey suit walked into the room._

_"Yeah?" she replied automatically, looking away from the small window in the dingy room, turning to look at the source of the voice._

_"I'm Jonathan Black, with the public defenders office," he stated as he closed the door behind him and went over to sit down by the table, placing his briefcase on the table, with one swift movement and opening it. 'How very movie like,' she thought as the district attorney took out a file, a notepad and a pen._

_"Oh thank god, I am truly saved," she quipped sardonically turning back to look out the window again, surveying the surrounding, studying every detail, committing them to memory as her eyes swept over the surrounding environment._

_"Well, the police haven't heard from your grandparents yet, so that's good, but there's always a chance that they will be filing charges, they did report it in stolen, and your record isn't exactly squeaky, so.."_

_"What'd they do with my car?" she asked cutting him off_

_"Do you understand how serious these charges are?" he asked, wondering if she was joking. Brooklyn merely chuckled._

_"I'm handcuffed and there are 2 homicide detectives working on my case which strangely does Not include any homicides so yeah, I think I get it, just humor me," she replied before tossing her hair out of her eyes again._

_"Well, you they haven't had it sent to the impound yet, so it should still be down at the police lot, now, can we discuss your ca-"_

_"Can I borrow a pin?" she asked cutting him off, again, tossing her head to the right a slight bit getting the fringe out of her eyes._

_"Miss Cooper, I think your not understanding the weight of the situation you're in, you could go to jail," he explained trying not to lose his patience._

_"Do you have a pin or not?" she asked again._

_"Do I look like a 10 year old girl?" he asked, getting impatient with the girl in front of him._

_"Oh, I must have misunderstood or something, I mean really, big man in a suit, briefcase, talking like a lawyer," she cleverly remarked, mocking the him before explaining, "You've got a pink ribbon sticking out of your back pocket, so I figured you either like to play dress up or you've got a little girl at home, and since you don't look like the kind who'd tie ribbons in your hair, it's the latter,"_

_He seemed genuinely surprised with her powers of observation and deduction._

_"So you've got a pin in your pocket of ribbons to borrow me or not?" she asked yet again._

_He stood up and dug around before retracting his hand from his back pocket, "You're in luck," he said, passing over a tiny pin to her and she pushed her hair back, pinning it down._

_"Okay, let's start with.." he began sitting down but got cut off as the door opened and an officer poked his head into the room._

_"Matlock, you're needed with your junkie in cell 5, something bout her paper work," _

_"Excuse me," Michael the lawyer said and he left the room curtly, shutting the door behind him._

_Brooklyn's eyes shifted from the pen on the table to the bars on the window as she plucked the pin out of her hair in her cuffed together hands._

"What do you think happened with her?" said a soft voice and Brooklyn swam towards the voice, hoping for the fog and the fuzz in her mind to go away. Her body felt sore and there was a pressure on her head that wouldn't go away. But not.. It was not a pressure. It was a pair of hands placed against her temple. She heard another voice coming in, but the voice seemed to falter a little before growing loud, fazing in and out.

"I can't tell, Moira says she's exhausted, and dehydrated," said the other voice.

"Can read her mind? Tap into her memories?"

"No, the blocks she has surrounding her mind is amazing,"

"Blocks?" the female voice questioned, seemingly confused.

"Yes,"

"So she's telepathic?" the lady voice questioned again, but in Brooklyn's hazed mind, the voice was but a little louder than a whisper.

"It would take a grand amount of telepathy to block me out, and if that's true then.."

"She's a class 5,"

Brooklyn could hear the voices and her head was swimming in them, and more. The voices were barely registering. They weren't making much sense to her. She could tell that a man and a woman were speaking, but the voice of the male echoed in her mind and occasionally she felt the white waves wash up in her mind like the waves she had linked to fatigue and dehydration. She tried to form words with her lips, trying to say something, anything, but only managing a faint, "Mmmmph…"

"She's stirring," said the female voice, and then Brooke felt a soft nick on elbow before she fell back into a deep sleep, losing the disembodied conversation along with her consciousness.

As Storm withdrew the needle from the unconscious girl's arm, Charles Xavier retracted his from her head.

"Nothing?" she asked as she placed down the syringe.

"Nothing," the professor replied.

"Bobby said she.. levitated a ball," she stated.

"Well, multiple abilities are not uncommon, but I can't tell for sure what she can do, the blocks she has set up seem to contain every part of her mind, blocking in her thoughts, her recollections, and her powers,"

"Can you tell where her mutation is rooted? If she really is a class5 mutant and if her powers are located in her subconscious, then she could be unstable," Storm asked, concern in her voice, not an unbiased concern of course, if Brooklyn too was a class 5 mutant, she could be just as unstable as Jean, if not worse. Like with Logan, the professor had shared everything about Jean's condition with Storm, he felt that he owed it to her if he was to trust her and have her succeed him.

"No," he said with a sigh, worried, "The barriers she has are strong that I don't think I can break through them without doing any damage to her mind,"

"Then I guess we'll have to wait and see," Storm said trying to comfort the worried professor.

"We should still get the DNA imagery done,"

"I'll draw a sample then," Storm responded, moving to pick up a sterile syringe from a tray not far away.

_A/N Oop, abrupt random ending, I know, sorry bout that, will work on in improving my chapter endings.. Anyway, Review please, thanks you!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N Hey, guys, sorry this is so late, have been rather preoccupied with some thing, anyway, I'd appreciate it if the small number of readers I have would review, your feedback would really help, thanks.. _

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

The ink flowed seamlessly across paper, from the tip of her pen onto the notebook, the dark image in black emerged behind the intricate lines, Brooke was hardly listening to what Storm was talking about, and by the sound of it, no one else was either, there was a slight babble that went on, a small buzz of conversation, except there was no sound, everybody's eyes were fixated on her as she spoke, though none was actually listening.

"Remind me again why we've to listen to wind patterns?" came a voice from beside her, "Cause Storm's teaching it?" she offered to the dark blonde headed boy next to her.

"What?" Bobby asked turning to look at her.

"You said 'Remind again why we've to listen to wind patterns?' right?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the book.

"Did I say that out loud?" he pondered.

"Well, I heard it, so.. Yeah, I guess you did," she nodded.

"Huh,"

"Maybe you were too busy writing those little notes to your girlfriend to notice," she stated with a cheeky smile.

"Shut up," he said with a half smile, embarrassed as he folded another small leaf of paper passing it to the brunette with a white streak in her hair again

"Oh, and she's talking about solar wind by the way," Brooke added and he chuckled slightly, as she went back to doodling on her notebook.

_"Gosh, why won't she stop already?"_

Her head snapped up as the voices grew louder, looking around to find that no one was actually talking but the voices insisted as she shook her head trying to clear the voices within her mind. 'Damn you Telepathy,' she inwardly cursed.

_"Hmm.. Pork Roast.. Or sloppy Joe?"_

"These gusts of solar wind, caused by solar flares.." Storm continued saying while scribbling something onto the black board.

_"…solar flares? What happened to charged subatomic particles…?"_

_"1.50.. Great, last time I checked it was 1.47.."_

_"Oh, maybe I'll just go with pasta today,"_

"..magnetic fields and charged particles.." the white haired woman's voice fought to be heard by Brooke's mind as the other voices continued it's constant muttering which was phasing in and out louder and louder each time it phased in that her head was starting to hurt.

_"1.51…. 1.51… 1.52…! Gosh finally!"_

_"Huh.. That's some kinda cool, so basical.."_

_"Why do we need to know this anyway, this is so ridiculous,"_

"Now these interferences..."

Dropping her pen, she clutched her head with one hand with her eyes closed and her pen rolled of the table falling onto the floor with a soft clack.

_"What's gotten into.."_

_"…maybe the roast?"_

_"If I could just…"_

"Hey Brooke, you okay?" came a familiar concerned voice from next to her.

_"..this is stupid.."_

_"…maybe I sho…"_ Brooke squeezed her eyes tight and gripped her head. She felt like her head was about to explode.

"...the Sun…"

"Damn it! Enough already!" she cried as her head pounded and throbbed so hard that she could almost hear all her blood gushing in and out of her brain at a phenomenal rate. All heads turned to her as her voice pierced through the lesson and Storm stopped in mid-sentence, one hand on a book, the other a chalk on the board, her head turned to look at her too.

And then there was silence. Pin prick silence. The kind of silence that if someone literally dropped a pin you would accurately hear it strike the ground. No voices, no one spoke, nothing. Finally. That coveted silence.

"Uhm.." she started saying uncertainly, "Headache," she explained somewhat unconvincingly as everyone stared at the blonde with a streak of purple in her hair, "I'm gonna go.. get some aspirin. Sorry," she said shakily, standing up collecting her things before scurrying out of the room as quickly as she could.

She hurriedly made her way to the sick wing, far east, out back of the building. Once there, Brooke rummaged through one the limited supply of medication to find no aspirin or painkillers whatsoever waiting for her.

'The sublevel basement,' she thought remembering waking up in the white room on a metal slab, there were shelves, and there was definitely medication. Remembering the route well, she made her way down and groped around in the shelves for aspirin to find none there. Moving through bottles and bottles of medication, Brooke just couldn't find the only thing she needed and her head felt like it was going to explode at that point when she gave up cried "Damn it!" tossing the bottle in her hand back onto the shelf and several other bottles from another shelf jumped out and crashed onto the floor, making her jump and turn around to see the broken bottles laying on the floor with the little pills scattered around.

She bent over to scoop it up, learning that they were bottles of, nothing other that aspirin, super-strength. She picked 2 up and popped them into her mouth. Reaching up for her back pack for her bottle of water, receiving another shock.

"Storm told me about your little outburst in class," said the man who resembled nothing of Charles Xavier but sounded in every sense like him.

Sipping the water and swallowing the pills, she replied, "It's just.. My.. uhm.. Telepathy, that's what you call it right? It's just.. It's just a little off, and I'm hearing everyone and it won't go away, and I can't control it," she gave a sigh, "And my head just.. hurts.. And the voices just won't leave me alone and.." she continued letting her sentence trail off before sitting herself down.

It was a week after she initially wandered into Xavier High and passed out. That was just days, 2 days to be exact before the Alcatraz war, and things have settled back nicely for Xavier Institute for gifted youngsters, especially since the return of Professor Xavier whom he had later explained to have transferred his own consciousness to a comatose patient of his friend's.

"Control cannot be accomplished over night, Brooklyn, we've been through this, it takes hard work, the mind is a complex organ," he explained calmly as he always did.

"It's just so…. Much. And I can't control it, which is frustrating because.." she began but was stopped by the professor.

"Stop,"

"I know, and I don't want to be complaining but.." the professor cut her off.

"No, we have a visitor," he explained, turning around.

"What?" she asked, following him out of the treatment room, entering the elevator that headed to the ground level of the building.

"We have a visitor,"

"Okay," she said uncertainly, with the short time she had spent there, she had learnt that the professor had an inclination for being cryptic at times.

The elevator reached its destination and they walked silently down the hallway, headed toward the front door, and reaching just in time to see a figure burst through it, pushing it open weakly, holding on to it for support as though his feet were incapable of taking all of his weight.

Brooke stared at the familiar looking blonde haired boy who had entered the place. His clothes were scuffed and torn at places, and absolutely filthy, his shoes looked completely depleted and ready to retire forever and his used to be honey hued blonde hair looked soiled and mangled, as though they weren't combed or washed for ages.

"John.?" came a voice from behind and she turned around to see that it was Strom. She walked out of the capacious living area, with a book in her had and her eyes wide with astonishment. Brooke turned around just in time to see him fall forward, passing out and moved forward just in time to grasp his shoulders, keeping him form hitting the floor.

Strom rushed forward as well and checked his pulse as Brooke stood there in shock trying to take in what had just happened as she held the unconscious boy in her arms, staring incredulously at his passed out form.

A voice told her to do something, but it didn't register the first time.

"Brooklyn," the voice probed and she snapped out of her daze, "Do you know him?" the professor asked.

"No.. uhm.. Treatment room, right? Got it," she said and she along with Storm carried the unconscious young lad to the sublevel basement.


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N Sort off a filler to be honest, but it's kinda pivotal for the plot, so bear with me.. Review. Please? Thank you, and enjoy.._

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

Bobby Drake was on his bed, tossing and turning. It was late but sleep eluded him. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was a little after one a.m. and he pushed the covers over himself. Slipping out of his room quietly, he made his way to the kitchen, a spot in the entire mansion that he so fondly spent time alone, usually in the middle of the night, for a snack and usually accompanied with thoughts.

But this time, the kitchen was occupied, the lights weren't fully turned on but he saw a figure in the dark upon the high stool, a silhouette of a girl, Brooklyn in a loose fitting flannel pajama top which draped over the shorts she had on, a comfy looking pair off which went well with the dreamy far-off look she had on her face, with a tub of ice cream in front of her which she was digging at unenthusiastically on the island counter in the middle of the room.

The little light there was illuminated her platinum blonde hair and its purple high light which hung loosely in a ponytail with strands falling over her face, highlighting her fair porcelain skin.

He leaned on the door frame watching her unfocused eyes as her hands stabbed at the tub absent-mindedly with the dessert spoon. She seemed deep in thought and at the same time, the blank look wielded on her face had a certain glumness to it, almost a frustration, and it invoked something within him, to reach out and protect her, to catch her falling as he did when they first met.

Suddenly, her head snaps to his direction, disrupting his chain of thoughts.

"Bobby? Hey, you scared the hell out me, what are you doing here?" she asked with a shaky breath.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied, entering the kitchen, "You?"

"The same, came for a snack," she responded gesturing to the tub of ice-cream which was a looking melted and rather mangled, "Uhm.. Might be needing some help with it, though," she said glancing into the tub at the semi-melted ice-cream within.

Bobby chuckled and took the tub with his hand, blowing into it slightly and the smooth liquid cream within glossed over, hardening, before handing it back to her, placing his hand on the refrigerator to extract a carton of milk.

"What was that during class today?" he asked, concerned.

"Like I said, headache," she replied pulling the long spoon out of her mouth through a mouthful of ice-cream.

"Yeah," came to a quick reply followed by a very obvious eye roll.

"Power trouble?" he probed.

"That obvious, huh?"

"It's just.. A bit much, you know, I mean, I got used to it, controlling the things I could do, holding it back, downing the weird, and for 12 years, things were fine, but suddenly, it's just so difficult, since I got here, I.. It's like I can't control it, can't stop it," she rambled, "And as though it wasn't enough, now he comes back," she added silently. To her great fortune, Bobby didn't hear the latter.

"Could do? What sorts of things did you used to do?"

"Strange things," she replied, "You know accidents, when I was upset, windows break, burners get turned on high by itself, just stuff, you know, and I come here, and the professor said I'm telepathic, you know, the whole power of the mind thing and he's training me how to control it, except that's not going too well and it just tunes in and out,"

"I assume you were tuned in during class today," he asked chuckling slightly.

"Yeah, wa-a-a-ay too in,"

"Well, you just have to find out to direct it, you know, the right way to channel it," Bobby offered.

"I know the theory, it's just the practice of it and the implementation that's a little bit off, I'm just so used to holding it back, and now I've to exercise channeling it and focusing the power to do things, now everything's just whack, I can't hold it back, I can't channel it, how screwed up is that?"

"Okay, how d'you get used to controlling it when you were a kid, maybe you just need to direct back the same hold over it,"

"My grandmother said control it or I'll have to send you away,"

"Well, she took it better than my mum,"

"What did your mum say?" Brooke asked, curious.

"'Have you tried not being a mutant?'"

"Are you serious?" she asked, "'Have you tried not being a mutant?' that's what she asked you? Seriously?"

"Yea, so suffice to say, your grandparents handled it exceptionally well," he commented.

"I guess, but who tells a six year old, control it or we send you away to the place where they lock up people like you and you'll never come back out again? Who does that?" she asked taking in another mouthful of ice-cream.

"Your grandparents," he stated as a matter of fact-ly before putting the carton to his lips, draining the contents, and Brooklyn just laughed some more.

"I thought you were telekinetic though," Bobby asked referring to her little stint with the football when she first arrived at Xavier's.

"I don't know.. The professor said I was telepathic, but I may have more than one power, he can't tell cause he can't read me so I'm not quiet sure what I am, well, apart from the obvious of course,"

"Which is?"

"A mutant. I thought we were on the same page here?" she teased him playfully and Bobby chuckled.

"You're settling in okay though, right? Apart from your little internal power struggle?" he asked.

"Yeah, I.. I uhm.. I guess I am, things are a little different from med school, but it's pretty okay," she mused aloud.

Bobby looked at her blankly for a moment before responding, "You know, because you look so normal, I keep forgetting that you're some sort of a freak genius some times,"

"I am not a freak genius!" she argued, before correcting herself, "Okay, freak yes, genius no, I just have an eidetic memory, it's a very normal human condition, Rare, but human," she defended.

Bobby merely chuckled. The interaction between them had been nothing short of friendly, and Brooke found herself to be very comfortable in his presence, almost like they were old friends who'd gotten used to each other's company in just over a period of several short days. Bobby too found himself at ease with this newcomer, there wasn't any apprehension or hesitation in their conversations, there weren't any awkwardness or self-conscious moments that were too often when interacting with new people. It was all very, for a lack of a better word for it, normal, and it light of recent events, with the war and the cure and all, it was nice to have some sort of normalcy in life.

"Well, I think I better get back, I've an early class tomorrow," Bobby suggested, pushing himself off the counter's high stool.

"Yeah, well, I should too, so, I'll see ya," Brooke replied as she went over to keep the tub of the ice-cream.

Returning to her room, she flumped onto her bed, tossing around for several hours before deciding that she would definitely be skipping out on the sleeping. Her head was full, with her own thoughts for a change and she was finding it terribly difficult to drift off. And there was also this other thing, the terrible foreboding, as if something bad was going to happen, but she couldn't quiet pin her finger down on it.

And then, as though right on cue, her stomach growled noisily. 'Just Great!' she thought. Broke glanced at the clock, 4.32. It was a little early, breakfast was definitely not going to be served for a few hours, sighing, she pushed the covers over her body again and made her way to the kitchen.

She was cutting some tomatoes for her omelet when a voice jumped out at her from behind.

"We do have people to do this you know,"

"Logan.. Ow!" she called out as she turned around to find the muscular man enter the kitchen in his signature skin tight white shirt with a pajama pants, with her attention away from the knife, it slipped and nicked her middle finger. The Prickling pain was slight but the knife seemed to have nicked her pretty bad as crimson leaked out of the small cut.

"You know there's a reason we have people to cook for us," he commented as he took a swig of the water he retrieved from the refrigerator.

"And there's a reason why I don't wake them at 5 for an omelet," she said back as she put her fingers under the running tap to wash away the blood and the residue of food on her hand.

"Point taken," he said in defeat, "Your hand okay kid?" he asked concerned as Brooke took her hand out of the running water noticing that the water washed away all the traces of blood, and that there was no more blood coming out from the wound.

"Yeah," she replied, taking a closer look before realizing there was no wound.

"Careful with those, kiddo, not all of us heal like I do," he commented gruffly before walking out of the kitchen as Brooklyn ran her thumb across the place where there should have been a bleeding streak.

"Yeah, I will," she said absent-mindedly again as he left the kitchen. She eyed the knife and turned to look at Logan who had already left. Her mind couldn't help but go back to the words he said before leaving the room.

_Not all of us heal like I do.._

She shook her head, 'Stop being ridiculous Brooklyn, maybe the cut just wasn't as deep as you thought," she said to herself before resuming the cooking, 'it was probably the tomatoes,' she convinced herself as she continued slicing.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N Sorry this one took so long, was a little pre-occupied with stuff, anyway, for those of you who're reading this, please review, I'd really like some input, and I've anonymous reviewing on, so just about anybody can review._

_Oh, and the story's kind off already planned out, I've the pairings thought up including the plot and the storyline, but I can be dissuaded for my pairing, tell me who you'd like to see together in the story, and I'll see if it works.._

_Anyway, on with it, the long overdue chapter 6.. _

_Enjoy.._

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

Brooklyn tapped the pen in her hand onto the paperback as she read through the thick text book the professor gave her for pre-class reading, but Brooke wouldn't call it class, they were more of discussion sessions where they'd go through what she read thanks to her aptitude of recollection. She liked it very much better than back in school where she'd have to sit through dry boring lectures of gross anatomy or what-not, though she did have to sit through some other classes that the professor had laid out for her, life sciences, leadership and tactics, French, ethics.

Sprawled on her bed in a pair of comfortable jeans and tank top, Brooke was having a brief read through of that weeks pre-reading notes when several voices interrupted her thoughts.

_"Oh my god, did you hear? It's all over school, John came back,"_

_"No way! He'd have to have pretty thick skin to come crawling back to Xavier,"_

_"I know, if I were him, I wouldn't have the cajones to come back, I mean he basically betrayed X-Men,"_

_"Well, professor probably forgave him right,"_

_"Doh.. It's the professor we're talking about here.."_

Brooke closed her eyes and tried to shut the voices out, she was pretty sure it was someone's mind she was hearing and not the actual conversation, it was pretty loud and the doors walls around the place were pretty thick, so she placed her concentration onto the text book in front of her instead. It wasn't long till she managed to keep from reading passing by student's minds and focused fully on the subject at hand.

There was a soft knock on the door and barely tearing her eyes away from the book, she called out, "It's not locked,"

"Hey," came a female voice from the door.

"Hey," she said back not looking away from the book, absorbed in her reading as Kitty entered her room.

"The professor's asking for you,"

"Ethic's isn't for another hour, Kitty," she stated with a matter-of-factly tone distractedly as she flipped the paged and continued reading.

"He told me to call you to his office for him, and I don't think it's for class,"

"Okay," Brooke replied but made no move to get off her bed.

"I would assume now you know, seeing as we do have class in an hour," she said sarcastically.

"Okay," Brooke repeated her reply more assertively, scratching her head with the pen before placing it on the page and shutting the book and pushing herself off of bed, "Do you know why he's calling for me though?"

"I don't know, but it seemed important," she replied leaning on Brooke's study which was laden with books and watched her get up from bed and pull a sweater over her tank.

"Okay, thanks, I'm going okay, mom, you don't have to watch me leave," Brooke teased her new friend.

"Oh, Ha ha.. You're hilarious," Kitty replied dryly before they exited the room together. Brooke liked her, she was the only other person who seemed okay with the presence of the new girl. The school hasn't exactly been the most friendly crowd, they didn't really take to accepting the new student, for reasons that she could not quiet figure out, not that she actually minded, being accepted and liked had never been the top of her priority list, ad it clearly showed while she was being interrogated questioned by the law enforcements in the professor's office.

The blonde lady detective tapped her fingers impatiently on the table.

"How many episodes of NYPD Blue did you have to watch to get that finger tapping down?" Brooke asked, avoiding the question.

"I asked you a question, Brooke," she said.

"And I ignored it and moved on. Try to keep up okay?" she retorted much to the homicide detective's dismay.

"This isn't a joke, your grandparents are dead, so is your mother," the detective repeated herself.

"And what do you expect me to do? Start weeping, running out of this room hysterically screaming and crying?"

"Your fingerprints were all over the house," she stated accusingly.

"I lived there, of course I'm all over the house!" Brooke snapped back.

"This.." she started saying while laying snapshots of the place Brooke used to call her home for the past few years littered with gruesome bloody mangled bodies across the table, "is what happened to them, Ms. Cooper, so we'd like it very much if you'd co-operate because as far as we know, no human can kill like this," she continued, her voice tone accusing, Brooke's eyes were

"Detective Anderson, we've complied in every possible way, and you've exhausted my student with your relentless hammering, and I assure you that Miss Cooper here is not the person you are looking for," the professor's calming voice of reason stated.

"Can you think of anyone who would've done this? To your grandparents? To your mother?"

"No.." she answered, "Can I go now?"

"Of course,"

"But we'd like to have a word with you, Professor Xavier,"

"Yes, I suppose you do," Brooke heard the professor reply but she heard no more as she left the room before collapsing on the wooden panels of wall outside the professor's office, her mind still full of the gruesome bloody images and she closed her eyes to try to shut out the pictures.

Several minutes later, the two detectives walked out of the office, and blondie stopped by Brooke, "I know this is difficult, but if you can think of anyone who could have killed your mother or grandparents, give me a call," she said, handing Brooke a name card, and she and her partner left.

As the two detectives walked away, Brooke became aware of the soft clicking noises coming from a little down the hall. She turned to look and it was none other that John Allerdyce, flipping his Zippo open and close, igniting and putting out the fire nimbly with his fingers again and again, he was leaning on the wall opposing her, a little distance away.

"Wasn't your mom already dead?" he asked non-accusingly, not looking at her, continuing to flip his lighter.

"Things change," she replied nonchalantly.

"Yeah, apparently," he replied sardonically, finally looking up from the lighter.

"You never asked," she replied defensively pushing herself off the wall.

"Can we talk about this?" the pyrokinetic asked as Brooke walked past him.

"No, we can't!"

"Coop," he called as he followed her as she took large strides away from him.

"Don't call me that!" she snapped turning around to face him.

"What happened?"

"What happened? What happened is you left, period,"

"Coop,"

"I said don't call me that," she spat again.

"Fine, Brooke," he emphasized her name, "Just tell me what's going on okay, your mom's not dead, you're a mutant, what happened in the last 2 years? We grew up together, we were best friends, just tell me,"

"Yea, you got that right, were, as in past tense, as in used to be but not anymore, you wanna know why, John, because you walked away, you walked away and you didn't turn back, you can't expect things to go back to the way things were anymore, okay? Things change, people change, I've changed,"

"Okay, then tell me what happened, tell me how you've changed, let me fix this," he said referring to their friendship.

"You can't," she insisted stubbornly.

"Why not?" he asked exasperated.

"Because you left!" she snapped, "I left about a hundred messages on your cell for you and all I get is one dumb letter, telling me not to write back, my whole life was falling apart, my dead mum was suddenly not dead, my dad was not my dad and you didn't care. I was always a shoulder for you to cry on John, always, but when I needed you the most, you tell me not to contact you, so no, you can't fix this," she stated heatedly before walking away from the blonde speechless pyrokinetic.

_A/N Wokay, so that's about it, like it, don't like it, tell me what you think, as I always say, reviews are loved and adored, as are the review-EE's so feel free to press the little button below.. Thank You.._

_mAnomaly.._


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended._

_A/N Hello, so long long time since I last updated, I know, I'm sorry.. Stuff just got in the way._

_Anyway, thank you Luna13 & Ryan A. Violen for your comments, this one's for you guys._

**Normal's The Watchword. Or Is It?**

"I wanna join the X-Men," the blonde with a streak of purple in her hair proclaimed to the elderly man in the room.

"Brooklyn," he started but she cut him off.

"Professor, I want to fight," she insisted stubbornly.

"The X-Men is not about revenge,"

"Professor, will all due respect, I know that, I mean, the X-Men is about serving humanity right? Protecting and upholding human rights, so that man and mutants can co-exist harmoniously. My grandparents were not the best people in the world, but no one deserved what happened to them, that's why I want to do this, that's why I want to fight,"

"You can't fight when you can hardly control your powers, Brooke," the professor started, "You will need training, it will be a lot of hard work, physical hard work to get into shape and you'll need to train your mental acuity, be prepared, think fast enough, precise enough," Professor explained carefully and calmly, "We're not talking about something you decide to do on a whim, you'll need to take strategies and tactics class, danger room sessions, special defense classes and now is just too soon for you, especially in your mental state,"

"I'm fine," she defended herself.

"Your mother is dead now, not another fake death, but really dead, the people who raised you since you were a child is dead, you are not fine, Brooklyn,"

And maybe she really wasn't, but she didn't care at that moment.

"We'll talk about this later, when you're calmer when you've accepted this better,"

"Fine," she replied, defeated.

"Get a good night's rest Brooke, you have some heavy classes tomorrow," he advised and she bid him goodnight before making her way to her room. Once there, she fell onto her bed with a thump. But no sleep would come no matter how hard she tried the gruesome images, the photographs of the dead lifeless bodies of her only known grandparents who weren't even her grandparents and her mother replayed itself in her mind over and over.

Then her tired mind would slowly drift off into the arms of slumber when the images began growing, extending, the series of pictures played out in her mind, how it could have happened, the blood everywhere, their screams. Brooklyn's eyes snapped open, not for the first time that night as she lay on the bed. After relentlessly trying to go to bed, she abandoned the thought or any hopes of slumber.

She was sweating and her blonde hair clung to her head, sticking to her face. She went over to the window and pushed it open, letting in a small dry breeze which did nothing to ease the sultry unmoving air in the room.

Sitting by the window still, calmed by the wind, relaxed by the ease of breathing, her eyes slid close.

_"Hey, so I met a guy today,"_

_"Ooh, do tell," the slender lady leaned over the kitchen counter of the dingy apartment, asking her daughter._

_"Yeah so he said he was my dad," Brooke replied, placing her messenger bag on the table as Caitlyn recoiled visibly._

_"Brooke.." she started._

_"Yeah, and so you know that got me thinking, didn't my dad die, like in a boating accident 9 years ago? I told him he was wrong, and then he gave this," she ploughed on interrupting what her mother was about to say, pulling out a stack of letters tied together form her bag._

_"What is that?" Caitlyn asked, panicking._

_"You tell me," Brooke snapped, "It looks a lot like your handwriting,"_

_"Hmm.. Return to sender, Return to sender, Return to sender," she read off the unopened envelopes._

_"Brooke, he was a cokehead, he got caught and he was in prison when I had you,"_

_"Did dad know?" Brooke asked, tears forming in her eyes._

_"The day he asked me to marry him was the day he wrote his name on your birth certificate to be your father,"_

_"How could you have kept this from me? You come back and you don't even bother telling me that I buried a stranger all those years ago?!"_

_"Brooklyn, Charlie, he.. He was wasted, high, half the time, he got into a lot of trouble to get money for his addiction, but we were so in love, and I got pregnant, and then he got caught, I was so scared, so scared for me, for you, and then I met your father," Caitlyn explained pausing for a moment, "Who loved me, unconditionally, who took to his grave the secret that you weren't his daughter, who loved you like his daughter all the same, that man, was your father, not the crazy psycho addict who wasted his life away and.. and broke the law not caring that he'd leave you fatherless!"_

_Brooke wanted to argue, to defend Charlie, but Caitlyn did make some excellent points. And she could see the hurt in her mothers eyes, the pain that stopped her from saying anything, the regret that she may have been the one to kill the man who loved her unconditionally, who took her in, cared for her the way Charlie probably never did in his wayward addict ways no matter how much he loved her._

_"He loves you," was what she said instead, "You may not believe that, but he does, and he's sorry, you know, I know he is,"_

_"Well, I don't care how he feels, but I don't want you to ever speak to him again, as a matter of fact I don't want you to even speak of him again, you got that,"_

_"Okay," Brooklyn replied though she wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she wanted to love Charlie, to trust him, at least enough to bring him into their crazy world, and she'd admit readily to herself that she missed the father-daughter camaraderie, the one she had with Jack, the man whom she believed to her real father. On the other hand, though, she couldn't stop herself from feeling, no matter how nonsensical the emotion was, that if Caitlyn did still have any feelings for Charlie, she'd be betraying the only father she knew for 15 years of her life._

_Later that night, Brooke rolled over in bed, tugging the pillow down tighter over his ears to shut out the sounds of his mother's distress. Down the hall, Caitlyn was tossing and turning in her fitful sleep. Brooke wondered what nightmares plagued her mothers perturbed sleep. Nine years. It'd had been nine years since she'd seen, heard or touched John. How long could one person be expected to go on grieving? How lonely could one person be expected to make her life in honor of a memory? Brooke wondered. Hadn't she sacrificed enough, tortured herself enough for his death? Wasn't she entitled to some happiness?_

_The springs on the bed creaked noisily again._

Brooke snapped back awake. She stared outside the window overlooking the vast garden of Xavier High, the fountain, the basketball court, before glancing back at the clock by her bedside. She'd fallen asleep and had her moment of reminiscent for only a few minutes. Giving up on sleep entirely, she made up her mind, grabbing a hoodie to pull over her tank, she changed her pajama pants to jeans and pulled on her sneakers before climbing out of the window seamlessly as she did many times back at home and ran across the garden headed for the gate.

Brooke was not quiet sure what she had in mind when she decided to roam the streets of New York at 3 am in the morning and she tried her best to appear as a normal person – the sort of teenage girl who could go for a late-night walk without fearing anything other than a mugger in the shadows of the neighborhood. Although it might not have been the most prudent approach for personal safety, it was necessary for her to retain her sanity, no matter what the means.

And for several blocks, the exertion worked its magic, clearing Brooke's troubled mind and leaving her with the pleasantly washed-out feeling associated with good, hard cries and strenuous exercise. She fell into a form of walking meditation as her feet briskly carried itself swiftly across the pavements of the street under the occasional street lamps, her mind seemed separated from conscious thought, broken only when she her feet began slowing down, her soles, hot from the vigorous walking.

The lights of the local internet café flashed, not quaintly, but tackily, the 24 hour sign blinking. For a lack of a better place to go, she entered and dug out some cash from the pockets of the jeans, paying for an hour before sinking into a chair before a computer.

She didn't know exactly what she was doing, but out of curiosity, she began typing in names, her grandparent's names, her mother's name, and she read random articles, from newspapers. Nothing fathomed her interest much, but nothing helped the gruesome images in her head either. Until she read his name in one of them. Charlie Nether.

Her heart stopped.

Brooke scrolled down, reading. He was a fireman now it seemed. Apparently he was taken in for questioning over her dead mother and grandparents, funny how someone with a criminal record was always the first to be suspects. At least the article didn't really focus on that. Unknown to her, she dug around the internet and found his address. It wasn't too far from the café, she headed out and made her way to the address.

The house was a dingy little place, it wasn't much, but it seemed homey enough. The lights weren't turned on inside, and there was no car on the driveway. Maybe he had the graveyard shift, Brooke mused. Creeping up to the driveway, she saw no movement inside the house, the air was quiet, still even. She crept to the door and hesitated, not quiet sure what she was doing, but there was just a strange emotion puling at her. She had to know, curiosity got the better of her and she pulled the pins out of her hair. Keeping the hood over her head, she bent over and carefully inserted the pins, pushing and pulling, pressing onto the right mechanisms and the door clicked open with ease.

Entering quickly, Brooke shut the door silently behind her.

In the dark, she made out the furniture and she saw a pile of unopened letters on a desk. It wasn't the letters that came as a shock but who, or rather whom the letters were addressed to. Charlie & Victoria Nether. She flipped over several more letters, all addressed to Charlie or Victoria or both. She heard a sound coming from the driveway and she dropped them back on the desk, scurrying carefully to the window for a peek.

The roar came from the engine of an old truck. An old truck pulling up onto the driveway. Brooke inwardly cursed herself. What was she thinking? This was crazy. She didn't think it through too properly. Caitlyn told her never to speak to him again, and she kept her word. What was she going to say anyway? 'Hi Charlie, my mum's dead so I decided to break into your house, how's the new wife by the way?'

Her lithe legs jumped to motion and she leapt across the room quietly wanting to make an easy exit through the kitchen door but too late, the lights flicked on and she heard a creak of the floorboard up front as the door closed.

Brooke tried her best to blend into the shadow of the kitchen but without much avail. Even in the semi-darkness he could see her.

"Brooke?" his voice called out to her, "Is that really you?" he asked, taking a step forward.

"Don't," she whispered and he didn't come any closer.

"Brooke," he started saying but she cut him off.

"You're married now?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"You said you loved her," she stated, he did say those words, he claimed to be sorry for what he had done, that he loved Caitlyn more than anything, but he was in so deep into drugs that he screwed it al up.

"I did, I still do, but.. It's been so long, Brooke, and she made it clear she didn't want me in her life, or your life for that matter,"

"Yeah, I guess she was right to want that,"

"Brooke -" he was saying when he took another step closer but she backed away.

"Charlie, don't,"

"Brooke, what's going on?" he asked, approaching her without heeding her warning this time, "What were you doing? Eloping from police custody? And why do they think you've something to do with their deaths?" he probed deeper.

"I don't know, but I uh.. ran away before the.." she let her voice trail off.

"Let me help you okay, where are you staying now, where've you been?"

"Somewhere safe,"

"Look, just let me - " he started saying as he placed his arm on her shoulder.

"No!" she reacted viciously, pushing him away, "I'm sorry," she said to the man named Charlie as he fell to the floor on his right arm, "I'm.. I'm just sorry, okay Charlie, I don't know what I'm doing here, you can go back to your new life now, I'm sorry," Brooke said as she turned around to leave.

"No wait, stop!" he called out from the floor, holding up his uninjured hand and she did, in mid run as a matter of fact, he looked at the clock on the wall and the second time was at a still, unmoving. Time was at a standstill, but for not long enough as he tried to get to his feet, the clock ticked and Brooke shot out of the door.

"Damn it!" he cursed and there was sounds of movement from upstairs and a muffled, sleepy voice calling out to him.

"Charlie?"


End file.
